If You Could Only See
by bayoublackjack
Summary: While Dean was stuck in purgatory, Sam made a new life for himself with Martha, but can their relationship survive when his brother returns? Brief mentions of Dean, but purely Sartha centric. Named for a Tonic song. Please read & review!


Dean was pissed, but that was nothing new. No matter how hard he tried to do the right thing, Sam always managed to disappoint his brother. Each screw up filled him with shame, regret and an overwhelming urge to prove himself to Dean. Or at least they had in the past. This time was different though.

Sam did feel guilty about not looking for Dean, but he wasn't ashamed of his choices. He didn't regret one second of the past year, because he finally found something worth living for. Someone one worth living for.

Dean couldn't believe that Sam had abandoned him for some girl, but it was so much more than that. Martha was so much more than that. If Dean could only see, then maybe he would understand.

A lot had happened in a year, but nothing as important as the moment Sam decided to carry on with his life. With the Impala restored and the Leviathans no longer posing a threat, Sam made plans to leave Chicago. He didn't know where to go from there. He considered going south towards Texas or back west to Stanford, but fate had something else in mind.

What happened next was a bit hazy. All Sam could remember was a dog in the road and how he swerved to avoid it. The rest was a blur, but he had vague flashes: broken glass, the tinny taste of blood, the stench of smoke, the faint sound of barking and a searing pain across his forehead unlike anything he had ever felt.

And then it stopped.

It was as if the world moved beneath him and all those things that bombarded his senses gave way to new stimuli. The barking gave way to beeps in slow, steady intervals. The air was no longer smoky, but had the lingering scent of citrus and bleach. His mouth was too dry to taste anything and his forehead now itched where it previously burned. When he finally opened his eyes, they were assaulted by the light. It was sunlight that caused to broken glass to glitter like diamonds, but this was different. No, this light was harsh and artificial. However, Sam did catch a glimpse of sparkle when he opened his eyes again.

Her facial expression was serious, but those brown eyes were gentle. "Do you remember your name?"

Sam's mind went blank for a moment. Not because he didn't know his name. It was obvious that he had been in an accident and that she was checking him for head trauma. The problem was that he couldn't remember which ID he was carrying at the time of the crash. "Sam," he answered eventually, choosing to error on the side of the truth without giving too much away.

"Sam," she repeated. Her expression softened and her eyes met his as she smiled politely. "My name is Dr. Martha Jones. Do you know what year it is?"

"2012."

"And where you are?"

"I was leaving Chicago, but I'm not sure how far I got."

"Not very," she told him. "You're at Loyola University Hospital. You've been in an accident."

Sam closed his eyes and did his best to think back to the moments before he lost consciousness. "Dog."

"Your dog is fine," she assured him. "He stayed by your side until they pulled you from the car."

Sam opened his eyes again. "The car?"

Martha's smile faltered. "You hit a tree," she reminded him. "Hard enough to give you a concussion."

"It's not just any car. It was my dad's…my brother's."

"I'll have someone look into it," she promised. "But for now, you need your rest."

Sam knew he probably should object, but he couldn't get out of the bed even if he wanted to do so. His head was still killing him and he felt groggy, no doubt due to the painkillers. So he closed his eyes and worked out an escape plan until sleep overtook him.

Sam wasn't sure how much time had passed, but when he woke up again he felt energized. Now that he had his strength back, he needed to get out there. Just as he began picking at his IV, the door to his hospital room opened and Dr. Jones stepped inside.

"How are you feeling today, Sam?"

"Better," Sam replied with an innocent smile.

Martha eyed him suspiciously and Sam pulled his hand away from the IV. "You're not trying to escape, are you?"

"Why would I do something like that?"

Martha fell into a thoughtful silence. "Are you a con artist?" she asked.

Sam looked confused. "What?" She dropped a small brown paper bag next to him on the bed and he opened it and looked inside. Someone had collected his personal effects from the crash site, including his multiple IDs.

"Only three types of people would carry IDs with different aliases," she replied. "Spies or undercover cops, serial killers, and con men."

Sam met her eyes. "So you just automatically jumped to con man?"

"Actually, my first thought was serial killer," she said with an uneasy smile that made him think that she hadn't completely ruled out the notion. "Need I remind you of the sort of stuff you have in the boot of your car?"

"I'm a bounty hunter," Sam replied. "At least I was," he added after careful consideration.

"Former bounty hunter," she responded. He wasn't sure if she bought the story, but she didn't press the issues of the IDs and weapons. "Retired?"

"Yea." Sam gave a slight nod. "Recently."

"So what are you going to do now?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"I might be able to help you with that."

"Seriously?"

"That depends." Martha took a seat on the edge of his bed. "How much do you know about cars?"

Sam wasn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't an invitation to work at a garage run by Martha's ex-husband, Mickey. Yet, he still found himself standing in a mechanic shop on the South Side of Chicago. Apparently, Mickey had been the one who towed the Impala after the accident and he agreed to fix the car for free as a favor to Martha, as long as Sam provided the labor. Cars were more of Dean's thing, but Sam had picked up a thing or two over the years.

"You can't keep doing this Martha," Mickey's voice rang out from the office at the other end of the garage. Sam tried to ignore their conversation, but they weren't exactly speaking in hushed tones. "You can't keep bringing home strays!"

"I thought you liked Riot," Martha retorted. Sam instinctively glanced down at the Australian Shepard that he crashed his car trying to avoid. While he was in the hospital, Martha had begun taking care of him under the assumption that he was Sam's dog.

Mickey sighed heavily. "That's not what I mean and you damn well know it."

"I like strays."

"No, what you _like_ are damaged men."

"Living proof of that, aren't you?" Martha responded sharply.

"I am," Mickey admitted. "And I nearly broke you."

"_Broke_ me?" Martha scoffed. "Get over yourself! You broke my heart when you cheated on me. And you definitely broke my trust, but don't even for a _second_ think that you broke me," she retorted fiercely. "Not after the things I've been through."

Sam wasn't sure of the history between Martha and Mickey, but it was obviously complicated. Both of them spoke in bitter tones, but there wasn't anger in their voices. It sounded more like disappointment and regret on Mickey's end. As for Martha, it was evident that the rawness of Mickey's betrayal hadn't completely healed, but she trusted him enough to ask for his help.

"You can't heal us all," Mickey said finally after a long silence. "They're not him. Neither am I."

It was Martha's turn to sigh. "How many times do we have to have this conversation?"

"Until you get it through that pretty little head of yours."

"Everything I do isn't about the Doctor."

"You could have fooled me."

Martha scoffed again. "You should talk. Your new girlfriend is practically Rose's twin."

"I never said I was perfect."

"But I'm expected to be?" Martha challenged.

"You were always too good for me. You know that. Too good for Tom and the Doctor too." There was a slight lull in the conversation before Mickey spoke again. "You need to stop lowering your standards."

"What standards?" Martha's voice was full of exasperation at that point. "He needed a job and maybe a friend. Nothing more."

"That's how it starts, innit?" Mickey insisted. "He's gonna fall for you, Martha. How could he not?"

Mickey's words stayed in Sam's head for the next few weeks. He didn't want to fall for Martha. Partially, because he had such a bad track record with relationships, but also because he wanted to prove Mickey wrong. It was easier said than done though. There was something special about Martha. That much was clear from the moment he first laid eyes on her. And the more he got to know her, the more he wanted to know.

"Are you busy?" Martha asked from over his shoulder.

Sam had been working under the hood of the Impala, but quickly stood up straight at the sound of her voice. "Maybe," he answered with a raised eyebrow. "Why?"

"I want you to go somewhere with me," she answered eagerly.

"Where?"

"You'll see when we get there."

Sam looked down at himself. "I'm filthy," he told her as he assessed the damage. He was covered in sweat and grime from working on the Impala's engine.

"Go up for a shower," Martha said, nodding towards the loft above the garage that Mickey was allowing him to use as an apartment. She took a seat behind the steering wheel. "I'll wait."

Sam knew he should probably keep working, but there was something about the excited look on her face that made it hard for him not to give in. "Do I need to wear anything special?"

Martha paused to think. "Dress for comfort," she responded thoughtfully. "But no flannel."

"What's wrong with flannel?" Sam asked, feigning offense as he wiped his hands clean on an old rag.

"You look like a lumberjack in flannel," Martha teased. "Or possibly a serial killer."

"Going back to that idea?"

Martha smiled. "Never said I ruled it out."

"And yet you want to go out alone with me?" Sam challenged with a smirk.

Martha shrugged. "I wouldn't condemn you without evidence. And honestly, I think I can take you."

Sam laughed as he headed up the stairs to the loft. "You probably could." He quickly washed up and threw on jeans and a flannel shirt that earned a playful eye roll from Martha. Once he was dressed, they caught the L and headed towards the Loop.

Sam wasn't sure what to expect when Martha asked him to spend the evening with her, but one thing he never would have conceived of was dance lessons. "Dancing?"

Grant Park was as Sam had never seen it before. There was live music, a huge dance floor in the middle of the Spirit of Music Garden and hundreds of people pairing up to learn the steps to the line dancing routine that was being taught by the enthusiastic couple in denim.

"I've been dying to go to SummerDance since I moved to Chicago," Martha told him as she dragged him into the fray. "But I never could get anyone to agree to come with me."

"So you decided to trick me into coming?"

"Not really tricking," Martha countered with an innocent smile. "You came willingly."

"Yea, because I didn't know what I was signing up for."

"If I told you, would you have come?"

Sam shook his head. "Honestly, probably not."

"Did you want to go?" she asked. The disappointment was evident in her voice, despite her effort to fight off a pout.

Sam sighed softly and raked his fingers through his hair. He knew he needed to get out more and he did like spending time with Martha. One little dance lesson couldn't hurt. "I'm here now," he said. "Might as well see it through, right?"

"Good," Martha responded with a bright smile. "I've wanted to try salsa, but I figured this was more your speed."

Sam frowned. "Are you saying that I can't dance?"

Martha bit her lip to keep from laughing. "I'm saying I can't picture it."

"Well I never had much opportunity," Sam conceded.

"Then consider this your opportunity," Martha said as they jumped in with the steps that were being taught. Sam made a few missteps and let out a frustrated sigh. "Baby steps," Martha told him.

"I know," Sam insisted, trying again. "I'll get it."

"No. I mean literally," Martha teased. "The transition is easier if you take smaller steps."

Sam looked down at his feet. He replayed the eight count sequence in his head and did his best to mimic it.

"Don't look at your feet either," Martha instructed.

Sam watched as Martha effortlessly performed the sequence and picked up on some of the earlier moves that they had missed. "You make it look easy."

"You'll get there," Martha assured him. "Even if I have to give you private lessons."

"I'll hold you to that," Sam told her with a slight smirk.

By the end of the lesson, Sam had improved, but he still wasn't on Martha's level. Martha promised to give him some pointers, but only if he fed her first. "You're a mess!" Martha teased from across the table as they sat inside a bar not too far from the park.

Sam dropped the remnants of the chicken wing he had just been eating onto the pile of other discarded bones. "You're the one who ordered hot wings."

"Yea, because I wanted to see if they were as mind numbing hot as the menu claimed," Martha retorted. "And I thought you might like a change of pace from your salad addiction."

"Oh _really_?" Sam shook his head as he wiped his hands and face on a napkin. "I thought it was because you hoped I'd stain this shirt and have to get rid of it," he countered, plucking his flannel shirt that he had worn defiantly.

"If I wanted to get you out of that shirt, I could think of more creative ways," Martha replied boldly with a smirk before taking a swig of her beer.

Sam laughed and reached for his own beer. "I bet you could."

"Aren't you hot?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Is that your attempt?"

"No," Martha said with a laugh. "I'm genuinely curious. I mean you're wearing flannel in the summer."

Sam looked down at his shirt. "It's lightweight."

"You must really love plaid. It's like _all_ you wear."

Sam shrugged. "It's convenient."

"Is that how you live your life?" Martha asked softly. "Just doing what's convenient?"

"I don't know," Sam answered. "I never really thought about it."

"I find that hard to believe," Martha told him seriously. "You look like a thinker."

"Like the statue?" Sam joked.

"Well I'd have to see you naked to be sure," Martha replied.

Sam laughed. "Is _that_ an attempt?"

"No," Martha replied innocently. "It's an empirical fact." She leaned forward. "The only one here trying to get you naked is you," she pointed out with a smile.

Sam leaned forward as well. "I'm not trying to get naked."

"Could have fooled me."

Martha smiled and Sam's eyes fixed on the curve of her lips and more importantly their proximity to his. It would have been so easy to close the gap between them and claim her lips with his, but he resisted the urge. "We probably should change the subject," he said sitting back in his seat.

"Probably," Martha agreed. She sat back as well and quickly drained her beer bottle. They didn't say anymore on the subject, but her body language told Sam that she was disappointed.

That made two of them.

Ever since their near kiss, Sam had a hard time knowing how to act around Martha and Mickey had picked up on the tension. He pulled Sam into the office about a week later and sat him down for a long talk.

"Are you shagging her?" Mickey asked bluntly as soon as the door was closed.

"What? No!" Sam spluttered, caught off guard by his candor.

"Good."

"Wait. Why do you care anyway?"

"Because I love her."

"Don't you have a girlfriend? One you cheated on Martha to be with?"

"She told _you_ about that?"

"No. I read the situation."

Mickey pursed his lips, but pressed on. "When I say I love her, I don't mean romantically. I'd go crawling back in a heartbeat, though if she'd have me, but she's too smart for that."

"Look, I get it," Sam said. "Martha's amazing and I wouldn't want to see some loser pushing up on her either, if I were you. But there's nothing going on between us."

Mickey laughed. "I can't tell if you're in denial or if the air up there is so thick you can't see straight."

Sam exhaled sharply and ran his hands through his hair. "I've got a bad track record when it comes to women," he confessed after an awkward lull in the conversation. "It always seems to end badly."

"Yea, well Martha's not exactly ten for ten either," Mickey told him. "But I can tell she fancies you. I see the signs."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Sam asked. "Just freeze her out? I can't do that to her. I mean she got me this job _and_ a place to stay. I'm grateful and…" He exhaled again. "I am starting to feel something for her."

"Something like what?" Mickey asked with a disapproving frown.

"I'm not just trying to get into her pants, if that's what you're thinking." Sam paused to choose his words. "I haven't met anyone like her in a long time. She's more than just special. She's the kind of woman you spend the rest of your life with."

Mickey raised an eyebrow. "What? You saying you want to marry her?" He scoffed. "You're worse off than I thought."

"No one's talking marriage. I'm just saying that I wouldn't start something with her unless I was serious about where it could go," Sam clarified.

"Are you?"

Sam fell silent again. For the past seven years, his life had been full of chaos and uncertainty, but these past few weeks where the first time he felt like he had regained control of things. He could make his own decisions for himself. Do what he wanted and be who he wanted. Make a life and a future of his own. The question was whether that future included Martha.

"Maybe."

After that first night, Martha periodically called Sam up to go dancing. Sam felt as though he had improved with each lesson and, in addition to country line dancing, he could also add the waltz and Cajun two-step to his repertoire.

He had plans to meet Martha for the much anticipated salsa lesson, but an emergency in the ER squashed those plans. She showed up at the garage a few hours later than their meeting time with food in tow. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically.

"You had work. You get a pass," Sam told her as wiped his hands on a rag and closed the hood of the Impala. He had been in the midst of giving her a tune up when Martha arrived.

"Peace offering." Martha set the bag down on the hood. "I figured if we couldn't dance salsa, then we could at least _eat_ it," she told him with a nervous smile.

"I already ate."

Martha nodded dejectedly. "Of course."

"Yea." Sam tossed the rag aside and leaned against the Impala. "You're wrong though."

Martha quirked an eyebrow. "About?"

"Dancing," Sam answered. "I mean yea we missed the lesson, but the Impala has a radio. And…"

"And?" Martha pressed with a tiny smile.

"And," Sam began before exhaling sharply. "I watched salsa videos online earlier so I wouldn't look like an ass for once."

Martha laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yes!" Sam retorted. "It's not exactly the story I'd come up with it if wasn't the truth."

"But why?"

"I dunno." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "Because…it was so important to you, I guess."

Martha seemed to be at a loss for words, but she eventually bit back a smile. "Thank you."

Sam shrugged. "It's not that big of a deal."

"To me, it is," Martha insisted. She moved to hug him and Sam caught her around the shoulders. They awkwardly maneuvered around each other until she rested comfortable in his arms.

As Sam stared down at her face, there was a surge of emotions inside of him and a flurry of thoughts swirled in his head. He remembered waking up to her face for the first time and the vague thought of how he wouldn't mind her being the first thing he saw each time he opened his eyes. He thought about Mickey's declaration about how he'd fall for her. And he mentally kicked himself for not kissing her that night after their first dance lesson.

Martha looked up at him and Sam decided that he wasn't going to chicken out this time. He tilted is head downward and she quickly moved hers up to meet him in the middle. Her lips were soft and she clung to him with a quiet intensity that stirred something deep inside of him.

Sam didn't want to pull back, but he knew if he didn't he wouldn't want to stop with just a kiss. As he pulled away, Martha moved closer. "If we don't stop now, it'll be harder to stop later," he told her seriously.

Martha met his eyes and smiled coquettishly. "Who says we need to stop?"

Sam took that as his cue. He pulled Martha's body flush against his own and placed his right hand at the base of her neck, tipping her head back for him to kiss her properly. Martha reached up, putting both her arms on his shoulders and laced her fingers behind his neck, drawing him down to her height and rising up on tiptoes to close the gap between them. Sam's hand left her neck and met his other hand at her waist before dropping down to her behind. He cupped it in his hands and hoisted her up, guiding her legs around his waist.

Once they were eye level with one another, Martha rested one arm around Sam's neck, burying her fingers in his long hair. She then proceeded to unbutton his shirt with her freehand.

Sam turned them around and eased her down onto the hood of the Impala, knocking the food bag down in the process, but he'd worry about spilled salsa later. Martha laid back pulling Sam down on top of her. Their lips meet in another, more passionate kiss, while their hands focused on removing the layers of clothing that kept them from the inevitable.

It wasn't the most romantic encounter, but neither of them seemed to mind. It had been while for Sam and he got the impression that Martha was in the same position. Nevertheless, they put everything on the line and let go right there on the Impala's hood. And again in the backseat. And once more upstairs in the loft.

"Bloody hell," Martha panted softly.

Sam curled himself around her from behind as they lay naked on the floor, still breathing heavily. "We should probably pull the sofa bed out next time."

Martha laughed and glanced over her shoulder at him. "I'm amazed we even made it up the stairs."

Sam smirked. "Yea, that wasn't easy." He pressed a kiss against her shoulder.

Martha closed her eyes and ran a hand though his hair. "Enough of that," she protested playfully. "That's what led to round two."

"No, this led to round three," Sam he reminded her as he defiantly placed another kiss closer to her neck. "Round two was a direct result of you pushing me down into the backseat of the Impala and climbing on top of me."

"Right…" Martha cringed slightly. "Sorry."

Sam laughed. "Believe me, it was nothing to apologize for."

Martha adjusted her position so that she could roll over and face him. "It was pretty intense. All of it."

Sam nodded. "Yea." He wrapped his arms around her again and smiled when she snuggled up close to him.

"I don't usually…"

"I know," Sam told her. "It's not the norm for me either," he confessed. "I haven't had a serious relationship in seven years."

"Do you want that?" Martha asked. "A serious relationship, I mean." Her eyes fixed on his and he melted.

"Yes." Sam cupped her face in his hands. "I want you, Martha. All of you."

Martha smiled and leaned her head into his palm. "I'm yours." Sam smiled and leaned in for another kiss. Martha pulled back after a few minutes and returned his smile. "You were wrong too, by the way."

Sam frowned in confusion. "Wrong about what?"

"You never looked like an ass when we were dancing," Martha insisted. "It was more like a moose on skates," she teased.

Summer came and went with major changes for Sam and Martha. By August, the Impala was fixed and Sam had moved in with Martha. Of course, sharing a bed had its advantages, but he also he enjoyed the simple pleasures of domesticity. They'd fallen into a comfortable routine over those months. Early morning runs with Riot and a shower together afterwards before they parted ways. Most days, he'd meet her with food during her breaks. On their days off, they'd take in a movie or have a museum date. Saturdays, they visited the farmers' market and they did the weekly shopping. Sam's favorite, however, were the lazy Sunday mornings where neither of them bothered getting out of bed until it was absolutely necessary.

It wasn't always smooth sailing. Mickey was less than pleased to learn they had become a couple. Eventually, he got used to the idea, but it didn't stop him from the occasional jab at Sam's expense. And there was the issue of Martha's family. She was close to her family and a meeting was inevitable. Martha delayed it for a few months under the guise of getting to know each other better before taking the next step, but Francine Jones would not be denied.

"There are worse things than spending Christmas in London," Martha told him with a smile.

"Like face planting on ice," Sam said uneasily as he attempted to maintain his balance on his ice skates.

Each season brought a new set of activities. After the summer dance lessons and autumnal cooking classes, Martha decided that winter was the perfect time to learn how to ice skate. Unlike dancing, Martha wasn't miles ahead of him skill wise when it came to skating.

Martha wobbled and clung to Sam for support. "Face planting may be less painful," she teased.

"That's not encouraging."

"You'll be fine," Martha insisted. "You're clever and you're kind and my family will love you because…well, because I love you."

Sam was stunned to hear those words, but before he could have a proper reaction his feet slipped out from underneath him and he went crashing down to the ice bringing Martha down with him.

Martha groaned softly as her knee hit the ice, but Sam had taken the brunt of the impact. "Not the reaction I was expecting," she joked.

"I caught you when you fell. That has to count for something."

"Not when you _caused_ me to fall."

Sam adjusted her earmuffs, which had become askew when they fell. "I can say the same about you."

Martha laughed. "Did you really just say that?"

"Yea." Sam winced playfully as he sat up on the ice.

Martha cupped his face in her hands. "Oh…that was just embarrassingly adorable."

"I realized that as soon as the words came out."

"It's was sweet though," Martha told him with a smile.

Sam pulled her into a gentle kiss. "I love you, Martha."

"I love you too and so will my family."

Christmas went surprisingly well. Martha's family was more accepting of Sam then he had imagined and even went as far as to give him gifts.

"Martha said you're a huge fan of flannel," Tish teased when he unwrapped a pair of red flannel pajamas.

"Never said it was a good thing," Martha countered.

Tish leaned in close to Martha and Sam overheard her say, "I doubt he'd be wearing them for long anyway."

Martha made good on that suggestion when she snuck into the guest room later that night. Sam joked about Francine killing him if they got caught so Martha told that they'd just have to be extra quiet. By the time the sun came up, neither of them was worried about being discovered.

Sam opened his eyes and saw Martha curled up against him, chin rested on his bare chest and eyes alight with joy. "Happy Christmas."

He cupped her face and pressed two quick kisses against her lips. "Merry Christmas," he replied.

"It's mostly family time first thing," Martha began to explain her family's traditions. "Breakfast and the rest of the presents. Then we're pretty much free for the rest of the day, except for dinner and the Queen's message. So we can go out for a bit, if you want."

"No. I like it," Sam insisted. "Christmas wasn't really a big thing in my family growing up. My brother would try and make it special, but it was never anything like this, you know, with the whole family coming together."

"I wish I could meet him, your brother," Martha said softly. "When you talk about him, you get this look on your face. He must have been something like a hero to you."

Sam nodded and hugged her tight. "He'd like you."

"You think?"

"Yea." Sam laughed. "He'd probably hit on you and say you were too good for me."

"No argument there," Martha joked.

Sam laughed. "Hilarious."

"Well I've ruled out serial killer, but I'm not convinced you aren't a conman," Martha said.

Sam smirked. "What con is it that you think I'm running?"

"You, Sam Winchester, are clearly a heartbreaker."

"I'm not going to break your heart."

Martha gave him a sad smile. "That's what they all say."

"I mean it, Martha," Sam said as he stroked her back lovingly. "I promise to never hurt you."

Sam hated himself for breaking his promise to Martha and he also hated Dean. The timing couldn't have been worse. He and Martha had just celebrated their first anniversary when he got the call. Dean was back and he needed to see him. Sam struggled to think of the best way to break the news to Martha, but in the end he slipped away in the middle of the night like a coward while she worked the late shift.

By the time he reached Rufus' cabin in Montana, he had a series of voicemail messages from Martha increasing in panic as they continued. Sam must have picked up the phone a million times to contact her. He thought about answering her calls or sending a text to let her know that he was alright. Or better yet, he could turn his car around and going home to her. But he packed those thoughts away. Dean needed him and family came first.

A clean break would have been the kind thing to do. She deserved the closure, but nothing he could think of could explain his behavior. After a while, the calls stopped and he knew that he had missed his chance. So he suffered in silence. This was his punishment. His pain would be his penance for breaking his promise.

The days passed to weeks and the weeks to months. Sam was still plagued by his decision to abandon her. Everything seemed to remind him of Martha. Every time he opened his eyes, he was hit by the infernal longing to see her staring back at him. He missed her smile and her laugh and the way she fit so perfectly into his embrace while they slept.

When he received a text from Martha telling him that she needed his help and begging him to comeback, he briefly considered that it was just his mind playing a cruel trick on him. Nonetheless, he didn't hesitate for second before packing a bag and heading back to Chicago. He and Dean had been working a job in Louisiana, but Dean made it more than clear that he could handle the situation without him.

When he arrived in Chicago, Sam headed straight for her place. Assuming the worst, he parked down the road and approached her house on foot with his gun in hand. When he found her, she was simply headed up the walkway with Riot on a leash. "Martha."

Riot greeted him with a happy tail wag, but Martha was less kind. "Oh you've got some nerve," she said. Her voice was hurt and angry, but there was something in her eyes that gave him the tiniest glimmer of hope.

"I came as soon as I got your message."

Martha scoffed. "I find that hard to believe. I haven't contacted you in months. So unless your mobile service is a bloody disaster, I suggest you try again."

"Wait months?" Sam frowned then the reality washed over him. He groaned softly. "Dammit Dean," he grumbled through gritted his teeth.

"Dean?" Martha stared at him in confusion. "As in your brother Dean?"

Sam exhaled and nodded. "He's back."

"I don't understand," Martha said, her tone softer than before. "The way you spoke of him in the past, I always assumed he was dead."

"It's complicated," Sam answered.

"I'm listening," Martha replied and gestured for him to follow her inside.

So Sam told her everything. He told her about Azazel and his mother's death. He told her about his childhood, Stanford and Jess. His father's death, the special children and Dean's deal. Heaven and Hell. Angels and Demons. Lucifer, Leviathans and everything that lead him to the moment that he crashed the Impala.

Sam was certain she would think he was insane, but instead Martha let out mirthless laugh. "And here I thought you were a nice bit of normalcy in my life."

"Compared to what?" Sam asked and listened as Martha told him her story. He always knew that there was more to her than she let on, but he had no idea just how little he knew about her. "A time traveling alien?" he asked once she was finished.

"Don't give me that look. I'm just as sane as you are."

"No." Sam shook his head. "I believe you."

Martha looked genuinely surprised. "Seriously?"

"If there's one thing I learned from hunting, it's that if something is too strange to be true, then it's probably true."

"Fair enough," Martha conceded with a nod. "But it doesn't change anything."

"Martha."

"No." Martha shook her head. "We had a whole bloody year together. I let you into my home and introduced you to my family. I loved you and you just buggered off in the middle of the night!"

"I still love you," Sam told her seriously.

"Oh don't you dare!" Martha retorted accusingly.

Sam exhaled sharply. "Look, I know I fucked up. It's kind of what I do," he admitted. "I abandoned my family. I didn't look for Dean. And now…you."

Martha closed her eyes and shook her head again. "If you had only just said something."

"Look at me," Sam requested. Martha exhaled sharply and looked him in the eyes. "If I would have told you the truth that night…what would you have done?"

Martha sighed. "Sam…"

"What would you have done?" Sam repeated.

"I would have waited for you," Martha said softly. "Or if I didn't have so many responsibilities at the hospital, I might've packed a bag and left with you."

"And now?"

Martha shrugged. "I just don't know anymore, Sam."

"I understand if you don't ever want to see me again."

"All I've wanted for the past few months was to see you again," Martha confessed.

"To kick my ass?"

"Yes, among other things," Martha answered with a hint of a smile.

Seeing her smile warmed Sam's heart. "I'm sorry," he said finally. "For everything I put you through and more importantly for breaking my promise."

"Is that it? Just…_sorry_?"

Sam looked at her expectantly. "Is there more?"

"You bloody idiot," Martha muttered before kissing him.

Sam pulled Martha into his arms and returned her kiss. The last few months seemed trivial as they lost themselves in each other once more. Awhile later, as they lay naked in each other's arms in the bed they used to share, Sam pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I have to go back," he confessed as he moved to get up.

Martha sighed and held onto him tightly as if to deter him. "I know."

"I'll be back."

"You damn well better," Martha retorted. She loosened her grip on him and they both left the bed to begin pulling their clothes back on.

Once they were both dressed and Sam was at the front door, he turned back to look at her. "I can't say when I'll be back for sure or…"

"If you don't ring," Martha cut him off. "I'll..." She fell silent and her expression showed that she was thinking about the worst case scenario.

Sam nodded. "If I don't contact, you can assume the worst."

"Until then, I'll wait," Martha said. She forced a smile and threw her arms around him. "I'll wait for you forever, Sam Winchester," she told him close to his ear.

"I don't plan on making you wait that long," Sam promised. He kissed her softly and headed out the door back to Dean, knowing that both he and Martha would be counting the seconds until they could be together again.


End file.
